


Darlings

by sylwrites



Series: fall in light [4]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 17:26:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11063700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sylwrites/pseuds/sylwrites
Summary: Coda to Fall in Light.Parents and progress, featuring Jughead's two dads and Easter.





	Darlings

**Author's Note:**

> Chronologically, this takes place between the two chapters of "a million ways to bleed", which is why I'm posting it before the second half of that.

_ They say the kid sold out, _

_ In love with himself, run ragged;  _

_ Always looked to be a man of action, _

_ Because that’s what the old man should’ve been _

  * Matthew Good Band, “Man of Action”



  
  


“I gotta hand it to you, kid. You found the only coffee shop in Brooklyn that looks more like a bar than a bar does.”

 

Jughead lifts his head from the darkly roasted void of his coffee mug, glances at his father, then flicks his eyes around. They’re sitting at a corner table in a cafe near his apartment in Brooklyn. He can kind of see what his father means. Like many bars, the walls are made of a dark wood, but there are enormous windows that let a lot of natural light in. Now that it’s the evening, he supposes that it  _ is  _ fairly dimly lit, but he’s been here so many times that he’s long past the point of noticing primary details about it. The chairs are huge and comfortable and it has free Wifi. That’s all he’s ever paid attention to.

 

“Yeah, well.” He sips his coffee. “I wanted you to feel at home, but not really.” He raises an eyebrow, half-smirking, and is rewarded with the same expression on his father’s face.

 

In truth, the main reason Jughead picked this cafe is because Betty works here, and in about an hour she’s scheduled to get off work. It’s a silent ending bell, an easy out in case things get awkward. This is the second time that he’s meeting his father in as many weeks. The first time, they’d met for half an hour at a Starbucks near Jughead’s work. That had originally been more about convenience than anything - he'd had a shift on the day his dad was available - but also had the added benefit of being slightly removed from Jughead's immediate comfort zone. Neutral territory seemed to suit the occasion better than something more intimate and comfortable.

 

The Starbucks meeting had begun slightly awkwardly, particularly given the vaguely antagonistic tenor of their encounter in Jughead’s apartment at the end of last year. After ten or so minutes of hedged conversation, though, something seemed to have reset, and overall Jughead considers it to have gone fairly well. His father had a part time construction job in Albany and seemed to have stuck to the straight and narrow as he'd promised in November; Jughead has to admit, he does seem more stable than he's seen him in years.

 

So he'd agreed to a second meeting in fairly short order. This time it's a Wednesday, and Jughead doesn't have to work. Betty is in and out between making drinks behind the counter and doing something - cleaning, he supposes - in the back. She knows he's there, but he's intentionally not drawn any attention to her. Jughead had specifically avoided talking about her during his first meeting with his father, and FP hadn't asked (also intentionally, Jughead senses). 

 

(Even multiple years removed from a time where they had any semblance of a typical father-son relationship, they seem sometimes to be on an unnervingly similar wavelength. Jughead knows that much of it is learned behaviour and adopted personality traits, and it's both sort of wonderful and altogether terrifying.) 

 

“Still a smartass, I see,” FP observes. 

 

Jughead smiles. “That's burned into me at this point.” He looks at his father, noting the bags under his eyes, the new wrinkles on his forehead, and the pale colour of his skin - all classic signs that although FP is still wrestling with alcoholism. But there’s something else, too: a light in his eyes. Sobriety was slow, but winning.

 

“Good,” FP says seriously. He shifts in his chair and fidgets with his coffee mug. “So, uh … how's school?”

 

There are a lot of answers to that question, from a full detailing of his semester project to the Paris summer seminar that he recently was accepted to, but there's a specific look in his father’s eyes that stops Jughead from replying. There’s something else he wants to ask, something a bit heavier. It’s obvious from even a cursory observation of his father’s uncertain body language, and Jughead is not wasting his time on this anymore. “What do you really want to ask, Dad?”

 

FP sighs. He leans forward to the table and sets one elbow on it. “I was thinking about - I want to talk to your mom and Jellybean. Have you heard from them?”

 

Jughead freezes momentarily at the mention of the other half of his family. He thinks of them briefly - the sister he didn't know, and the mother who'd chosen not to know him - then grips his coffee mug tighter and steels his jaw. “No. Not since … not for a very long time.” He trains his eyes on his father’s, mind straining against the distant memories. “That's the truth.”

 

FP nods wordlessly, disappointment crossing his face. Silence falls for a while, and Jughead finds himself gazing toward the counter. Betty's bobbing blonde ponytail is visible above the espresso machine, and he can hear her voice distantly as she speaks to the customer at the till. Just seeing the top of her head feels comforting, and when Jughead looks back his father is watching him knowingly.

 

“That's your girl back there, right?”

 

Jughead’s immediate instinct is to change the subject and avoid the question, but the look in his father's eyes is one of genuine interest. He hasn't seen that in so long, and it pulls at his heart. Jughead understands that his dad wants to know him and be a part of his life, but he's trying to balance allowing that with protecting the things that are dear to him. And at the top of that list is Betty.

 

But then she peeks her head out from behind the espresso machine, smiles at him reassuringly, and Jughead knows it's okay.

 

“Yeah,” Jughead answers. “That's her. Betty.”

 

FP leans back in his chair. “You get a stupid smile on your face when you look over there.”

 

Jughead chews his bottom lip and shrugs, pushing aside the mild embarrassment at how obvious he apparently he is. “I’m still waiting for her to come to her senses,” he says, only half-joking.

 

“You in love with this girl?” FP asks.

 

Jughead looks over at Betty again before replying. She's got her back turned and is reaching for a flavoured syrup. The stretch exposes a couple of inches of perfect pale skin between her jeans and her white t-shirt, and his fingers twitch. She grabs the bottle and turns around as she chats to a customer, and god, he’ll never get enough of her smile. 

 

So he answers honestly, having found a new ease with the word over the last few weeks. “Yeah.”

 

“She makes you happy,” FP observes with a slow nod. “Take it from me - hold onto that.” He runs a hand through his hair, and Jughead can see the tiredness in his eyes, the toll his life has taken on him, the price he's paid for his mistakes. He doesn't intend on following in those footsteps. 

 

“I will, Dad.” Jughead glances to his coffee and then over at Betty again before finally looking at his father. His head is full of cautionary signs and the familiar red “Dad” stoplight that he put in place years ago, but his heart isn’t quite lining up. That seems to be happening a lot lately, and he figures maybe a bit more openness isn’t the worst thing in the world. So he excuses himself briefly and goes to the counter to talk to Betty.

 

She’s wiping up a few errant drops of coffee from beneath a pot, but she turns as Jughead approaches. A few strands of hair are escaping from her usually impeccable ponytail, and he decides he likes this slightly haphazard Betty. She gives him a sweet smile. “How’s it going over there?” she asks, leaning on the counter.

 

“Actually not bad.” Jughead reaches over and plays with one of her fingers. “But I keep getting distracted by the hot barista. I’m wondering if I can get her to go home with me.”

 

Betty blushes and bites her lip. “You probably can,” she says softly, leveraging the finger he’s caught and grabbing his hand. “You're just her type.”

 

“Yeah?” Jughead grins. “And what's that?”

 

“Lanky hipsters with sexy smiles and old hats.” Betty winks. She lowers her voice teasingly and adds, “I have this fantasy, but it involves a lot of plaid …”

 

“What a coincidence,” Jughead marvels. “I have a lot of that.”

 

Betty giggles and lets go of his hand. “So you guys need refills or something?”

 

Jughead hesitates, then shakes his head. “No, I - I know you sort of met him, before, in November. But I want him to meet you again. How long until you're off?”

 

Betty glances up at the clock. “Still forty five minutes. But nobody else is here besides you guys. I'll come hover around for a little.” She smiles warmly and grabs the coffee pot. “I'll refill you guys too.”

 

Jughead nods and backs away from the counter. He returns to his father, who is drumming his fingers on the table and staring out the window, looking somewhat wistful. Jughead doesn't need to guess who he's thinking about; his earlier inquiry into Jellybean and his mom made that answer fairly obvious. A pang hits his heart, an old feeling of longing for his mother and his sister, and Jughead quickly clears his throat to shake the emotion. She wasn't worth it when he was thirteen and she wasn't worth it now. 

 

Just as he's about to mention Betty to his dad, she strides up to the table politely with the coffee pot. “Refills for you guys?” she asks with a smile. 

 

FP looks up. “Sure. Uh, please.” He coughs and sits up a little straighter, glancing at Jughead with surprise. 

 

Jughead almost laughs, because he gets it. The Joneses - especially his father, who has worked construction his whole life in between various criminal activities - are very blue collar. And Betty, despite her welcoming, easy nature, has the sort of poise and patrician beauty that speaks to breeding of a somewhat higher level. Even when she's the one serving them, it's almost as though there's an unspoken expectation of better behaviour. 

 

Betty fills their cups. “I'll be right back,” she says to Jughead, and skips over to the counter to return the pot and brew a fresh batch. 

 

“She's gonna hang out for a few minutes,” Jughead says, trying to read his father’s expression.  

 

“I’ll try not to send her running for the hills,” FP replies wryly.

 

Betty returns in short order, sliding into a chair beside Jughead. “Mr. Jones,” she greets, all politeness and restrained warmth. “Nice to see you again.”

 

“And you,” FP replies. “Nice coffee shop too.”

 

“I’ll pass along the compliment to the owner,” Betty replies with a kind smile. “Juggie says you're working construction in Albany. How are you liking it?”

 

FP begins to ramble about his new job, and Jughead tunes out a little. He's heard all of these details before - the boss is nice, pay is decent, weather’s been shit, hours could be better - and they're honestly not interesting enough to be worth hearing twice. Instead, he watches his father, studying his engaged body language, his animated face, and the jittery twitch of his pinkie finger. His eyes grow slightly wider with tired excitement when he starts talking about an old motorcycle he’s helping his friend restore, a topic that Jughead has an extremely low level of interest in.

 

That is, at least until Betty starts getting into it.

 

“What kind of bike?” she asks.

 

FP furrows his brow curiously and sits back in his chair, tilting so he can rest his elbow on the back of it. “It’s a ‘79 Benelli 500LS.”

 

“Four-cylinder?”

 

“Yeah.” FP smiles and tilts his head. “Not running right now though. Needs a new control shaft in the starting unit and there are some rusted out parts in the transmission that need replacing. Can’t find parts, so that might be stalled for a while.”

 

Betty tightens her ponytail. “Hey, I know a guy that is pretty much a whiz at hunting down parts for older motorcycles. Mostly American, but he does deal in Italian makes too. Mainly Ducatis, but I’ve seen a few Benellis around the shop.”

 

“You have a guy for motorcycle parts,” Jughead echoes, dumbfounded.

 

“He’s a family friend,” Betty explains, shrugging at Jughead with a sheepish smile. “My Dad’s really into tinkering with cars, and he’s made some friends that do bikes, too. Kind of a hobby of ours.” She turns to FP. “I’ll get his number from my dad and have Juggie pass it along to you. He might be able to point you guys in the right direction.”

 

“That would be great,” FP says, a hint of eagerness in his voice that catches Jughead off guard. “Jughead didn’t mention you knew your way around a bike.”

 

Jughead chuckles and shakes his head. “I had no idea.” He winks at Betty. “She’s full of surprises.”

 

“I’ll say.” FP smiles at Betty. “So, my boy been keeping in line for you?”

 

Jughead raises an eyebrow at his father, then slides his eyes to Betty with a smirk, awaiting her reply. She blushes slightly and says, “He couldn't be more wonderful, Mr. Jones. You should be very proud of him.” She grabs Jughead's hand and squeezes, making no effort to be sly or casual. 

 

FP nods. “I am,” he says seriously. “Betty, I'm gonna level with you, because you're important to my son and I'm trying to turn over a new leaf here, and my sponsor says honesty is important.” He sighs. “I’m sort of a fuck-up, I'm sure you know. I'm not gonna be winning any awards at the end of this whole thing. But Jughead is a great kid. And I can't take credit for how he turned out - that's all him, and probably a little Fred - but on the list of good things I've done in my life … well, let's just say it's a very, very short list. And top of it is Jughead.”

 

Jughead feels his face burning red. They do not have an emotional relationship based on compliments and love and mutual respect like he supposes fathers and sons are supposed to. His father does not tell him “I love you”. His father does not comfort him when he's sad. And his father  _ definitely  _ does not go on a diatribe to his girlfriend about how his son is the best thing he's produced in his life. Jughead swallows the unfamiliar lump that invades his throat. “Shit, Dad, don't ruin the the manly aesthetic I've got going on here,” he jokes. 

 

“Last week you asked me to kill a spider in the bathroom for you,” Betty reminds him. “That aesthetic killed itself pretty quickly.”

 

“That is  _ totally  _ irrelevant, I was  _ busy--” _

 

Betty sticks her tongue out at him lovingly, then turns to FP. “That's very sweet, Mr. Jones,” she says softly. “I'm glad that we can both see what a great man Juggie is. I'm also happy that you two have begun to reconnect.” She levels a look directly at FP, and adds, “I hope that continues.”

 

Jughead almost shudders at the steely intensity of Betty's tone. In that moment, his sweet, seemingly docile girlfriend is all Alice Cooper, right down to the folded hands and stepford smile. 

 

“It will,” FP says, his eyes full of the same earnest ferocity Jughead had seen back in November.

 

“Good,” Betty says gently, the quiet threat dropped. The bell on the door jingles and a customer walks in. She stands and smiles apologetically at FP and Jughead. “Gotta go. Good to see you again, Mr. Jones.” She gives a small wave and then hurries back behind the counter to serve the older gentleman who’d just arrived.

 

Jughead watches her, only tearing his eyes away when his father lets out a low whistle of mild surprise. He glances over at FP, who is staring at him, trying to read him. He seems to be not having much success, which Jughead takes moderate pride in.

 

FP gives up after a few moments. “You’ve got a good girl there, Jughead,” he says slowly, smiling a little. “I’m happy things are going so well for you.”

 

Jughead nods. His father’s not wrong: school’s okay, work is fine, the apartment is good, his friends are great, and now - now he has Betty, and that elevates everything else. She’s made his world less dreary, just as she seems to make things a bit brighter for everybody that’s lucky to have her in their lives. She truly is the rising tide, lifting all boats and carrying them out to sea.

 

So yeah, his life is pretty great right now. But there’s something else, too; it’s like a returning colour in the sky, an added burst of fresh air, or a long-welcomed addition to his mosaic. His father, whose tentative return can be solely attributed only to his own hard work, stubbornness and steadfast courage. Like Betty, Jughead hopes it continues.

 

“Back at you, Dad.”

  
  


\--

 

Like always, Easter comes unexpectedly. 

 

Jughead is not religious, and never has been. He doesn’t observe Lent, nor does he fully understand really what the purpose of Shrove Tuesday is, or why the Catholics in his high school came to school with ash on their foreheads the day after. And now that he lives in the city and really only interacts with the same few people, he doesn’t deal with a lot of religion. Easter is just another holiday to spend with Archie and his dad in New Jersey. Only this year, it’ll be different. 

 

He still hasn’t found God, or anything. That’s not the new part. She is.

 

“This house is so nice!” Betty marvels.

 

Jughead looks down at her as she grabs his arm. She has an excited look on her face, her green eyes shining. He chuckles. “It’s not bad, yeah.” He adjusts his hand on the handle to Caramel’s cat carrier. “Veronica and Archie should be here already.”

 

Archie should have gotten here by now.” The four of them had planned originally to travel together, but Betty had an early-morning shift at the cafe that had delayed them a few hours. Jughead didn’t really mind; it gives him a little extra time to process that she is coming home with him for a holiday. 

 

It’s weird; she’s met his father, but somehow spending time with Fred feels a lot more like the Big Step that Jughead assumes FP was supposed to be.

 

It makes sense, if he stops to think about it for any length of time. If Archie is like a brother, then Fred is definitely a surrogate father. In fact, the only thing he’s really missing in life is a strong female presence, although that goes for Archie and Fred as well. Life with them has always been sort of a really mundane frat house, at least insofar as there was a lot of video games, takeout, and interesting smells around the house. 

 

Jughead leads Betty into the house. Instantly she is bombarded with a hug from Veronica, who has already begun to excitedly ramble about how nice it is that Betty was able to join, and how she’s already got her seat at the table picked. Jughead takes note of the girls’ dresses - Veronica’s a rich, opaque purple, Betty’s featuring a pretty floral design - and figures that yeah, the frat house days are probably over.

 

Fred and Archie enter the foyer from the kitchen. Archie greets them with his reliable happy smile, and Jughead shakes Fred’s hand. “Fred, this is Betty,” he introduces, keeping his voice steady to hide his nerves. “Betty, this is Archie’s dad, Fred Andrews.”

 

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Andrews,” Betty says politely, setting her white overnight bag down and shaking his hand. “Thank you so much for having me. Your house is lovely,” she adds, eyes sweeping across the entranceway.

 

Jughead understands. The house is pretty on the outside but even nicer on the inside; Fred has done a lot of work to it since his original purchase. The two-storey entranceway feels pretty grand for an average house in the suburbs, and in the right lighting, the expanse of rich white across the walls and moldings rivals even the hallways at Archie and Veronica’s Manhattan apartment building.

 

“It’s Fred, please,” he dismisses with the same easy smile as his son. “I’m glad to finally meet the girl that actually caught Jughead’s eye.”

 

Jughead smirks and wraps an arm around Betty, who blushes at Fred’s words. “Hey, I’m a man of discerning tastes,” he states. “Had to wait for the right one.”

 

“You guys are adorable,” Veronica says, smiling warmly at them. “But I need girl time.” She grabs Betty with one hand and Betty’s bag with the other, tugging her toward the stairs. “Come on, B, I’ll show you around.”

 

Jughead’s eyes follow, confused, and once they’re up the carpeted staircase and out of sight he looks at Fred and Archie. “I feel like I was supposed to do that?”

 

Archie chuckles. “She’s just excited to finally have an Andrews family holiday with another girl around.”

 

“Yeah, I figured we’d have to start toning down on the farting at the table,” Jughead muses, grinning at the disapproving look from Fred. “Just kidding, Fred.” He kneels down and lets Caramel out of her carrier. Vegas has loped over to investigate, and once the door is open the orange kitten makes a beeline for the stairs.

 

“Whatever works for you, Jug, but I’m just here to tell you that you’ll drive that girl away if you fart at the table.” Fred shrugs casually. “She seems very nice. Pretty, too. You sure she didn’t just get lost and wander into your apartment?” he jokes.

 

Archie leads the way out of the foyer and into the living room. “I asked her that too, Dad, but she seems to actually like him,” he teases, grinning at Jughead as he sits down on the large, worn sofa.

 

Jughead rolls his eyes. He plops down on the equally worn loveseat, one leg bent beside him, and reaches over to pet Vegas. “Ha ha,” he says sarcastically, shooting a small smile at the Andrews men to signal his faux disapproval. “Smells good in here. You cooking already, Fred?”

 

Fred nods. “Yeah, I have the ham in. Was hoping I could get one of you kids to help me with the potatoes and stuffing, though.” As he’s speaking, the girls enter the living room. 

 

Betty, predictable as clockwork, pipes in immediately. “I’d love to help,” she volunteers. “I may be a safer bet than the guys, anyway.”

 

“That’s probably true,” Veronica agrees, moving to sit beside Archie on the couch. She tilts her head up for a brief kiss, then snuggles into Archie’s side. “I’d help, but - I’m just as bad.”

 

“Well, I’ve heard about your prowess in the kitchen, Betty, so I’ll take you up on that offer.” Fred stands up. “Here, I’ll show you where we’re at.” Betty follows him into the kitchen, looking over her shoulder to flash a reassuring smile at Jughead. 

 

He winks back, then leans over to grab an X-Box controller. “Okay, Arch. Prepare for defeat.”

 

\--

 

Later, they climb into Jughead’s old bed in the spare room upstairs. Jughead slides in first, beside the wall; undoubtedly, Betty will be waking at some ungodly hour to go for a run. He sits and watches as she prepares to change into pajamas, ready to avert his eyes in a second if she tells him to. She’s been growing more and more comfortable with him physically, and casual partial nudity, however brief, is now a fairly regular part of their lives. He’s not sure how it began, but Betty has recently started to make a point of being noisy enough to wake him up when she gets back from her run in the mornings. He watches her get dressed, then she’ll lay with him until he gets up to eat. If he thinks long enough on it, Jughead supposes it has something to do with increasing her personal comfort with him and her body, but whatever it is, he isn’t complaining. 

 

Of course, there are still times when things are too much, when the darkness inside Betty is overwhelming and she needs to be alone. She sleeps in her own room on these nights, but Jughead always keeps her side of his bed ready, just in case.

 

Tonight is not one of those nights. Tonight, Betty is happy and blissful, on a high from her successful turn at basically cooking all of the Andrews Easter dinner apart from the ham. She’d even somehow whipped up a peach pie (all the while lamenting the store-bought pie crust), after which Fred had proclaimed that Jughead was no longer welcome back for holidays unless he brought Betty with him.

 

Betty tugs her ponytail out and brushes her blonde hair quickly. She tries in vain to reach the zipper at the back of her dress, then bites her lip and comes to sit on the bed. “Will you unzip my dress?” she asks with a hint of shyness.

 

“Sure.” Jughead reaches over and pulls the zipper down, trying his best to not just blatantly ogle the expanse of skin that has been revealed. Sometimes she seems to like when he stares, but Jughead is not sure if now is one of those times and like always, he prefers to defer to her obvious indication otherwise.

 

“Thanks,” she says softly, pulling the straps off of her shoulders. She lifts her hips and slides the dress completely off, then lays on top of the comforter in her matching pale blue underwear and bra. Betty looks at him and bites her lip, her unspoken permission to lower his eyes from her face.

 

So he does, letting his gaze sweep across her body. Jughead shakes his head at the image before him, a small part of him still convinced that she can’t possibly be real, then clears his throat. “Y’know Betty, I had a lot of dirty dreams in this bedroom as a  teenage boy. But somehow ... none of them can even compare to how you look right now.”

 

Betty giggles quietly and reaches for him. “You're so sweet,” she says, sliding one hand up his chest to rest on his shoulder. “Your skin is so soft, Juggie,” she adds quietly. 

 

“I exfoliate,” he jokes, watching her curiously. She seems apprehensive and nervous, as though contemplating something uncertain, so Jughead squeezes her hand. 

 

He continues to watch her as she squeezes his hand back, then slips her hand from his. She raises herself onto her knees. Then, lower lip drawn between her teeth anxiously, Betty lifts her leg over and straddles his hips. Her eyes flick over his chest, and for a moment Jughead assumes the dark look in her eye is because of nerves before she lowers her lips to his collarbone and he realizes she  _ wants  _ him. 

 

His hands slide automatically to her back, fall slowly down to her waist and settle on her hips. Her mouth on his skin feels incredible, and while it's true that Betty usually initiates anything physical between them, she's never quite done  _ this  _ before. It's generally been a bit more traditional, him covering her with his body, but even after only fifteen seconds Jughead has already decided that this - here, laying underneath Betty - is his favourite place to be. 

 

She finally tears her lips from his collarbone and finds his mouth, deepening the kiss immediately. He can feel his body beginning to react and groans with pleasure at the feeling of her above him like this. Betty takes it as an encouragement and reaches behind herself, unclasping her bra. 

 

Jughead sits up immediately, hands moving quickly to her upper back to keep her close, and drops his lips to her breasts. She lets out a soft whine and tugs at his hair, pulling his head back. 

 

“What?” he asks in a heavy voice, distractedly looking at her face.

 

Betty says nothing, just bites her lip and takes advantage of his partially upright position, maneuvering her legs to wrap around his hips. She locks her ankles around his back and pulls herself against him, mouth falling open as they connect with only thin layers of fabric as separation. 

 

Jughead stills, waiting for a few moments to make sure she's okay. She eventually nods at him somewhat impatiently and kisses her with a smirk. One hand drops from her back to gently knead a breast. “I love you,” he breathes in near-silence, and hears the same in response. Jughead trains his eyes on Betty's to watch her reaction as his fingers tweak her nipple. Her eyelashes flutter, she gasps, and he grins.

 

He can feel the tension wound up in her body. Betty is not typically that loud, but they're in Fred’s house, and the last thing either of them want is someone overhearing. He imagines that the pressure of maintaining silence probably isn't helping her, but Jughead finds that he loves teasing her even more here, knowing that she can't use verbal releases as much as she typically might. So he tweaks her nipple again, then arches her backward slightly to replace his fingers with his mouth. 

 

Then his teeth gently rake over top of the sensitive peak, and her hand flies between them to her underwear. 

 

Jughead freezes instantly. He's never seen her touch herself, wasn't even sure if that was something she did - but now that she is, he's enraptured. As Betty’s lips move silently in the air, her eyelashes fluttering madly, he finds his hand moving to touch her wrist. 

 

Her eyes open. Almost immediately, her face turns beet red, as though she hadn't been aware of what she was doing and only now realized that he’s there. Jughead kisses her softly, full of promise instead of passion, and meets her eyes reassuringly. He can see Betty swallow hard, then she takes a deep breath and moves his hand to rest over her underwear. 

 

Jughead locks his eyes intently on hers, watching her for any signs of discomfort or fear. She's anxious, that much is obvious, but there's a hazy dark green in her eyes that he now knows signifies her arousal. He doesn't move his hand at first, just cups her between her legs, trying to memorize how impossibly warm she is against his hand and the wetness toward the back that presses on his fingers. 

 

Then very slowly, he begins to move his fingers, rubbing gently over with his thumb until he finds the bundle of nerves through her underwear. He presses and begins to move his thumb in a careful circle, and  _ god,  _ the look on her face. Jughead wants to frame her like this, eyes closed and chest moving increasingly rapidly. 

 

“Don't stop,” Betty breathes, wriggling against his hand. “Please, Juggie.”

 

He won't, ever. He’ll keep her like this until the end of time, almost naked on top of him with her pupils blown and his hand between her legs. That will be no problem whatsoever. 

 

Jughead works his fingers more, gently exploring her through the thin lace. He kisses her neck so he can still hear her erratic breathing and quiet mewls, and gropes her breasts and her waist with his free hand. She's rigid with her pleasure, caught half-arched, until eventually her head drops to his shoulder and she bites his neck through her release. 

 

Betty slumps against him, boneless. Jughead slides his hand from between her legs and holds her back, cupping her face with the other. She smiles at him, mouth lazy and eyes still hazy, and Jughead can't believe there was a time where he was ever not in love with her. 

 

“You're so incredible, Betty,” Jughead whispers, stroking her cheek. A new high for them, surely, without a panic attack or fearful tears - but primarily, a milestone for  _ her.  _ He's so fucking proud of her. 

 

Betty blushes into his hand. “I have to change my underwear,” she giggles. 

 

Jughead grins. “I'll give you a minute,” he says, kissing her quickly again and letting her climb off of him. He needs to go to the bathroom anyway, to take care of his own little problem, and tugs on sweatpants before tiptoeing out of the bedroom and down the hall. 

 

When he returns, Betty is already asleep, wearing his shirt and seemingly very little else. He climbs over her and settles against her back, draping an arm around her waist. 

 

In her sleep, Betty threads their fingers together. 

 

\--

  
**fin**

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated. 
> 
> Thank you for your continued love and support.


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